The old fisherman looked forlorn and desperate. He had come in the evening light as usual only to find his boat gone. His only option in the moment was to try wading along the shallow shoreline and treading for clams. Problem was: his wife hated clams.
Bergman loved to fish. One day after a long, grueling shift at the tomato peeling yard, he showed up at his local stream with a backpack, long tangles of string, and hope. He noticed the flies that were buzzing around and knotted the grass in imitation, dancing his creations on the water's surface. A giant catfish took one of of his fantasies, and his entire hand, in its mouth, pulling him into the cold water.
Bergman was reminded of his last performance review, how his boss seemed to inhabit a completely different world behind his desk, and everything he was saying only applied to that world, a world that Bergman didn't know or understand. Nor could he understand it because he didn't experience it.
But the catfish was different. The catfish was trying to show him its world, which his elbow now understood completely.
"Will I be back in time for dinner?" asked Bergman. There was no answer, but he decided to go anyway.
Clutching his fishing gear, Jorje wondered if he would be able to catch enough for the family that evening. Suddenly, he heard a loud voice behind him - "Hey man, that's my volleyball net!" 😛
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